


a fire quenched

by yourlipsarered



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F, Is that possible?, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spellwell - Freeform, might make this a multi but I'm not sure yet, post-possession mary, soft angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-04-27
Packaged: 2020-02-07 11:58:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourlipsarered/pseuds/yourlipsarered
Summary: What once was the embodiment of the raging fire of hell had been replaced by Mary Wardwell’s warmth - or is it returned? Zelda could not quite wrap her head around it, not yet anyway. The Queen of Hell’s clothes and hair may have gone, but the complete metamorphosis in essence is quite haunting (and, quite frankly, impressive) to the High Priestess.or post-possession Mary Wardwell and what Zelda Spellman, current High Priestess, thinks of the mortal





	a fire quenched

**Author's Note:**

> "And there's nothin' cold as ashes  
> After the fire is gone"
> 
> I am completely fascinated by Mary Wardwell, the purest cinnamon roll that deserves the world. I'm even more fascinated by how beautiful a couple she and Zelda could make. I'm all uwus for them, 10/10 would die for this ship.

The hellfire that once consumed this woman’s eyes had been cooled to the appropriate temperature her blue eyes radiate. No longer does an aura of powerful magic engulf her tiny frame, swallowing her whole; only the subtle shudder in the teacher’s shoulders that spoke of an endearing shyness and a slight aversion to the cold.

What once was the embodiment of the raging fire of hell had been replaced by Mary Wardwell’s warmth - or is it returned? Zelda could not quite wrap her head around it, not yet anyway. The Queen of Hell’s clothes and hair may have gone, but the complete metamorphosis in _essence_ is quite haunting (and, quite frankly, impressive) to the High Priestess.

 _Praise Lilith_ , she spoke in her mind, the Demon’s powers in full display as the shell that once held a Queen sat before her.

Suddenly feeling the weight of a pair of green eyes on her, Mary broke herself out of the trance she found herself in, eyes moving from an empty spot in the air to meet the other’s. She’d been finding herself lost in empty gazes for a few days now, as if trying to recall an obscure memory one’s mind insists on hiding from the beholder. Zelda never once broke her gaze, the smoke she’d exhaled veiling her piercing stare just enough that it wouldn’t split the teacher in half. The witch watched as Mary came undone, so sudden that it was painful to watch - the blush that rushed to her cheeks and ears, fluttering eyelashes, and the nervous quiver in her lower lip that turned into a polite smile and allowed for two dimples to bloom. With a light hum, the brunette lowered her eyes as if to surrender against a relentless wind.

 _Surely there isn’t something on my face?_ the teacher wondered, her hands growing damp in self-consciousness. She felt like it was the first day of teaching all over again,skeptical teenagers judging her head to foot just waiting for something to scrutinize, to later be made into a teasing nickname. Of course, she’d grown past such a stage. In fact, she’d become one of Greendale’s beloved - so how could one Zelda Spellman’s gaze crush her to pieces in a matter of seconds?

There was something about the way the redhead looked at her, something that didn’t sit quite right. As if she was looking for someone in her place, or trying to see through her like an opaque window pane. Mary suddenly felt very small, invisible - she shifted uncomfortably in her seat, daring to tilt her gaze upward to find out if the inspection was over. And it was, Zelda now putting out her cigarette in her antique ash tray.

“My apologies for staring,” Zelda stated matter of factly, perhaps too formal for the occasion as if to announce rather than apologize. The tone spilled over to the statement that meant to shut down any impoliteness. “You just...remind me of somebody, is all.”

“Oh!” Sweet, innocent Mary but smiles at the statement, happily replying “If I had a nickel for every time I got that one.” Even her tongue had changed; the way she would wrap words around her mouth was like music, rather than a sharp bite at syllables when her Demon Goddess reside. Zelda thought the second time her eyes lingered on too long was more subtle, but the brunette knew exactly what she’d been thinking.

“Sometimes I don’t know who I’m looking at either, when I see myself. In the mirror I mean.” Mary’s words were so soft, Zelda nearly missed them. The brunette was sure the aunt knew, as the whole town did. It was a rough first week, and it was a small enough town for whispers to spread like wildfire. The teacher bursting into tears after being called Principal Wardwell instead of Ms. Wardwell. Her panicked call to the police if they had heard of an Adam come by town at all, classifying his absence as a mere ghosting. If she didn’t fight off the lump in her throat with all her might, she may have burst into tears that very moment. Sabrina had filled her aunt in regarding her beloved teacher’s ordeal. Zelda had been told she doesn’t remember a thing, so the witch would imagine a great deal of time was missing. A time spent long enough to forget, and to lose.

All too soon, a tear found its way down a soft flushed cheek. Mary realized only when she felt a cold chill on flesh she hadn’t completely been in sync with just yet. Trying to be discreet, the brunette turned away slightly to push it away, masking it with a small nervous chuckle. _This is silly, what does Ms. Spellman care?_

Little did she know that she’d coaxed the usual mortal-degrading High Priestess into a rare moment of vulnerability. The pain that accompanied the memory of a dormant consciousness: living, breathing, screaming within a shell that was once Zelda - it was never allowed to resurface. Just as any trauma, the redhead would bury it until it is forgotten - but it is always there, waiting to be addressed, waiting to torment a powerful witch such as she. At the sight of the pain in Mary, the witch reminisces her own, and suddenly they are no more different than she’d initially thought. It’s all the same fear, she realized; pieces of themselves have been taken without their consent, time lost and pieces missing.

Zelda’s previously stern, skeptical expression towards Mary dissolved into worry and a fierce instinct to protect. And for the first time, she sees Mary not as one who bore Lilith but for the mild and meek tempered teacher she is.

All Zelda could do was pray to Lilith the teacher’s memories would stay blissfully blank; remembering would be all too painful, and she knew it.

Slowly, so as not to scare her fragile companion off, Zelda lay a gentle hand over Mary’s. There was a slight tenseness from the other that lasted a millisecond, until the brunette relaxed and molded her trembling hand within a comforting grip. Perhaps it was the combination of surprise at the sudden tenderness from the usual fiery Spellman and the dire need to be held that allowed Mary to do so, letting out the breath she’d held that brought a wave of tears down with it.

No words were spoken, none were needed. Only a silent understanding between them. Both briefly caught each other’s gaze, exchanging small nods that spoke louder than any spoken word could. They spend a good deal of the night enveloped in the warmth of each other’s company.

**Author's Note:**

> soooo that was a mess?! I'm a terrible writer, and would love to hear from you down in the comments section. Also! I don't know if I want to make this a multi of Spellwell being soffffft and how their relationship evolves 👀👀👀👀👀


End file.
